


Life is Not a Song

by ohmytheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU) Just like when they were children, Robb was her prince and Sansa was his princess, except this is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is Not a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, I like to pretend that I live in the world where the Red Wedding never happened.

When she steps out onto the bridge, she is shaking. Her hands tremble at her side, her lips quivering, every inch of her brimming with a nervousness that no one could possibly understand. _The monster has been slain,_ she reminds herself again and again, but that doesn’t stop the nightmares from attacking her in the dead of night and that doesn’t stop her from heart from racing wildling every time the Iron Throne comes into her sight. She sees villains everywhere still now, hiding in the shadows, waiting to spring upon her, tear her gown, beat her with mailed hands, smack her with the flat of a sword, maybe even cut her. She knows it’s silly, but then–

But then it’s not. It was her life at one point. And that’s what makes things even worse.

Oh, people would think her absurd. She lived in the Red Keep. She lived a life of luxury. What were a few beatings compared to the fact that she had a warm bed, handmaidens to tend to her, fire, food and drink in her belly? She has no right to complain. Even she tells herself that every now and then, scolding herself on how selfish she is. All of the smallfolk had less than her and had to fear more than her as well. Yes, she had been beaten; and yes, there was the threat of rape, but most people in Westeros didn’t have the threat. It was just _there_. She had Ser Balon Swann and Ser Meryn Trant, but the Riverlands had the Mountain. Could she truly know fear like they did?

 _“Now you’re being ridiculous, Sansa,”_ her brother told her when she confided her insecurities to him. _“You were a prisoner of war. Make no mistake of that. You were kept here against your will, forced to do things you did not want to do, made to mingle with the enemy, and were treated ghastly. Would that I could have protected you from all of that. I am your big brother. It’s my duty to keep you safe; and I-I failed.”_

 _No, you didn’t fail me, Robb,_ she wants to say to him time and time again. _You saved me. You rescued me, just like in all the stories and songs._

He is a king now, her king, her knight in shining armor. She adores him for that. Just like they had pretended when they were children and full of childish dreams and summer, he had come to her rescue. He _saved_ her. Though he is not a knight, he was crowned, and now she is a princess, his princess.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tells her now as he steps beside her. He is so much taller than her now, so much older and wiser. He’s the king. He has to be. The last time she saw him at Winterfell, he looked so young, so fresh, so clean. He hadn’t even had a beard, freshly clean-shaven for the arrival of the king and his caravan. It looked strange to see him in more Southern-styled clothes, but he wore them because of the weather and temperature. His red hair isn’t as curly, but hangs lightly in his eyes with the crown on top of his head. His blue eyes, just like hers, are shady. She remembers them being bright and clear, but now… Things have changed.

Everything has changed.

“No, I must,” she replies solemnly. She knows she must do this. It may be the only way to end the nightmares and daily terrors she is plagued with. It will be a way to confirm all her hopes and dreams.

_The monsters always live._

The words bump around the walls of her mind, clawing at her whenever she closes her eyes. She is strong. She is brave. But even brave men can be afraid of monsters.

The sunlight hits her as she moves forward, staring determinedly ahead at the wall. She doesn’t want to look up – is more than certain that when she does, she’ll realize that everything was a lie and this is the true nightmare – but she knows that she has to. Her hands still shake, but suddenly she stops altogether when a hand grasps her own. She looks up, caught off guard, and stares into her brother’s face.

“It’s okay, Sansa,” he says quietly, like he spoke to her when she was a baby and he was a little boy. “You’re not alone anymore.”

 _I’m here,_ his words tell her. _I’m here now._

She closes her eyes and turns her head forward. The king has conquered and the monster is slain. Good won out and evil was vanquished. She is free and she needs to feel like she is free. She is no longer a caged bird. She is a wolf and wolves are fierce and brave. They have packs. And she has her pack again – her strong big brother, her protective little sister, her wise little brother, and her wild youngest brother. She is not alone. She is free.

When she opens her eyes, she finds herself looking into the dead eyes of Joffrey Baratheon, his head mounted on a spike that had once served as mount for her lord father’s head. Her heart bursts, her blood singing a song that has been played since the First Men, wild and vicious and cheerful and victorious and terribly unlady-like but of the North like her.

“Or maybe he’ll give me yours,” she breathes under her breath.

“What did you say?” Robb asks her, giving her a peculiar look, holding onto her hand tightly.

She turns to face him again, but this time she smiles and it is as bright and stunning as the day when Robb Stark proclaimed victory over King’s Landing and saved her life. “Nothing,” she says. “I’m just…I’m just so grateful to you.”

“Oh, Sansa,” he sighs, kissing her on the forehead. “You don’t need to be grateful. You’re my sister. When we decided not to trade the Kingslayer for you and Arya, I told myself that I would go to the ends of the world to save you.”


End file.
